


Sanctuary

by Caia (Caius)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-18
Updated: 2010-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octane meets Sandstorm. Octane takes Sandstorm out for a drink. They interface. Takes place after "Fight or Flee," and "Thief in the Night," but before "Starscream's Ghost." Oh, Season 3 air dates, I hate you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

You're not from around here, are you?"&gt;"You're not from around here, are you?"

Sandstorm whirled around, ready to fight. He'd been working on his combat skills, but it was going to be a long time before he got to the level of an Autobot warrior who _hadn't_ spent the last million years on pacifist Paradron.

And it was a Decepticon. But the Decepticon wasn't attacking, so Sandstorm didn't, either. Yet. "Neither are you." Sandstorm's optics glowed--he should, really, comm for assistance, but he didn't want to. He wanted to deal with this one himself.

And he didn't want to deal with the Autobots. Or--worse--his own people. The Autobots either blamed him for bringing the Paradronians upon them or expected him to be some sort of ambassador. His own people blamed him for Paradron not existing anymore and Cybertron not being what Rodimus Prime had promised.

The Decepticon spread out his arms non-threateningly. "Ah, well, technically speaking, I am. I was built here in the early days of the Great War. Came back after some--difficulties--with the current Decepticon leadership. The Prime gave me sanctuary."

Sandstorm winced at that last word. The Paradronians had been _given sanctuary_ too.

"Anyway!" The Decepticon extended his hand and grinned at him. "I'm Octane. Pleased to meetcha. Tell me where a good place to get a drink around here is these days, and I'll buy you one."

Sandstorm found himself extending his own hand and shaking Octane's. "Sandstorm. And--I don't know if they even _have_ places to get drinks around here. Everything's rationed."

"Well, my friend, than you _definitely_ need my assistance." Octane led him down one of the little streets, heading towards a part of Iacon that--Sandstorm had been told--hadn't been rebuilt yet. "There's _always_ a place to get a drink! Even during the great shutdown, there was a black market, and _I_ was the mech to contact about it. I haven't quite reestablished myself here, yet, but there's _always_ a way."

Sandstorm followed, bemused. "I suppose so. I'm new at this whole 'energon scarcity' thing."

Octane glanced at him. "You're a Paradronian, then?" Sandstorm winced, but Octane just kept going. "Wonderful place, they tell me. If only they coulda opened it for trade rather than blowing the place! Eh, well, nothing ever lasts forever. Didn't get to keep much of what I got from Libya, either. Anyway!" Octane stopped in front of a small rusty door, no different from any of the other doors on that particular near-abandoned street, and banged on it.

A small mech with no insignia opened it and peered at Octane suspiciously. "Oh. It's you again."

"Yes, it's me! Octane, come to do business! With my new partner, Sandstorm." He waved a hand in Sandstorm's direction.

The mech looked at them both suspiciously. "You still owe us energon from the _last time_."

"That was a misunderstanding, Rocky!" Octane said, all innocence. "I don't owe energon, you owe credits."

"You want in again or not?" Rocky started closing the door on them. "I'm told you're a wanted mech these days. Could be trouble, harboring you."

"I've got protection from Rodimus Prime himself." Octane tried to get a foot in the door, but Rocky blocked him, easily. And snorted.

"Fine, fine." Octane spread out his hands innocently. "I've got some good stuff for you. Best energon out there."

Rocky put out a hand.

Octane manifested a small cube and handed it over to Sandstorm. "Hold this to my wing, will ya?"

Sandstorm--rather too overwhelmed by events to do anything else, and wanting to see what would happen next with this 'Con--did so. Octane opened a port on his wing and the cube started filling up.

Sandstorm stared. "You're not giving him the energon from your _body_, are you?"

"Nope. Well, yes. I'm a fueler. It's not from my own systems, just from my fuel tank. 'Swhat I do."

"Oh! Yes, I've seen fuelers before." He hadn't expected to see any again, though--not among the Cybertronians, at least. Certainly not among the Decepticons. Too much war, not enough energon. And none of the ones Sandstorm had known kept their fuel in their _wings_.

By that point, the cube was fueled, and Sandstorm handed it over. Rocky dipped a little rod into it before tasting it--to detect poison, perhaps? There was so much about life outside Paradron that Sandstorm didn't know yet. At any rate, it passed that test and he took a sip. "That _is_ good stuff. Very well. You may enter." He stepped aside and opened the door further.

The door opened into a large staircase with a high ceiling above it--much higher than the door, which both of them had had to bend down a bit to get through. "Six floors, Sandy-baby. Walk, or fly?"

"Uh. Fly!" Sandstorm transformed and waited for Octane to do likewise.

"Open up." Octane tapped on Sandstorm's door.

"You're not going to use your own wings?"

"I'm a plane. We don't work like that. Not in a confined space." Octane gave the door a little caress that made Sandstorm suddenly very much want Octane inside of him. Although perhaps not as a passenger in his alt. He opened up, and Octane climbed in, sat down, and started petting Sandstorm's seats.

As Sandstorm navigated the stairwell, he asked, "So--you're a fueler? And a plane?"

"Yup. I'm a triple changer, just like you. What's your other alt?"

Sandstorm was rather startled that Octane had noticed, but then--the 'Con was way more experienced than he was. "Dune buggy. Hence the 'sand' part."

"And the 'storm' from the 'copter?" Octane started running his hands teasingly over Sandstorm's controls. Sandstorm jerked. "Is it true what they say about 'copter-formers?"

"Uh." Sandstorm was saved from having to come up with an answer for that by landing. Among Paradronians, a helicopter alt _was_ considered somewhat inappropriate; Sandstorm had only been allowed his because he was a triple-changer _and_ his primary rotors were tucked well away in root mode. He wasn't sure if what Decepticons said about 'copters was the same or not.

In any case, Octane was climbing out of him and banging on yet another door, behind which there were a _lot_ of loud bots and their music.

Another little mech opened the door, but this one just squinted at them disapprovingly and stood aside as Octane walked in and Sandstorm, transforming, followed in his wake. A few of the mechs present--most of which either had no badge or an Autobot badge, but Sandstorm saw at least one with a 'Con insignia like Octane's--called out greetings in Octane's direction. It seemed he really _had_ been well known here.

Octane sat down at the bar and gave the bartender the same irresistible grin he'd given Sandstorm. "Gimme your best for me and my friend, here."

The bartender frowned at him. "Octane. You going to be able to pay?"

Octane gave her an affronted look. "Of course. And then we can see about doing some business, yes? I'm sure you missed your best supplier."

She snorted. "Best? Most expensive, maybe." But she put a small cube in front of each of them. "I'll be needing payment. _Not_ in kind, this time."

Octane sighed. "Put it on the account! I'll take it off the cost of the first shipment."

She pulled back the two cubes. "Payment. Now." There were guns mounted on each of her arms--it was surprising how much Sandstorm was used to that, now. _Everyone_ in this bar was armed, and Sandstorm had barely thought about it.

But then, everyone always said Sandstorm had no sense. And he had some weapons of his own, now.

Octane sighed even more expressively and put a few credit chits down on the bar. "Here. Not worth _near_ as much as it would have been in good, Libyan energon, but..."

The bartender swept them toward her, examined them, put them away, and _then_ slid the drinks forward again. "Congratulations, Sandstorm. Octane bought you a drink with real money. May you not regret it." And she walked away to serve a extremely spiky-looking neutral.

Octane interrupted Sandstorm's gawking with a friendly hand on his shoulder. "How do you like the drink?"

Sandstorm hadn't tried it yet. It was glowing, and green. In his experience, energon here was almost never as good as what they'd drunk on Paradron, but its scarcity made it taste sweeter. He sipped. And was glad he hadn't taken any more than a sip, because his intake _burned_. "Is this energon, or poison?"

Octane sipped his. "It won't kill you, but energon is stretching a point." He took a longer drink. "Got anything like it where you come from?"

"--No. No, we don't." And Sandstorm was reasonably sure of that--any trouble there had been to get into on Paradron, he'd gotten into at one point or another. They'd had plenty of forms of energon, many of them intoxicating and dangerous, but nothing quite like this. And nothing at _all_ like this bar. He took a larger sip. "I like it."

Octane shook his head at him. "You've got no taste. Come upstairs with me and I'll show you some real energon." He tapped at the little aperture in his wing that he'd used to give Rocky a cube. Sandstorm found himself staring, picturing himself lying on top of Octane, mouth on his wing, sipping, hands exploring the Decepticon's body--he pulled himself away from the fantasy and looked back at Octane's face. Octane was smirking at him. "That meant just what you thought it meant, Sandy-baby." He reached over and spun the little rotors above Sandstorm's head.

Sandstorm gulped some more of the--beverage, whatever it was. He did his best to match Octane's smirk, although he probably still looked exactly like the inexperienced Paradronian he was. "I'd like that. Some _real_ energon." And some real 'facing, presumably. It had been a good long time since Sandstorm had been laid, and his lovers on Paradron had always been...lacking something. The same way his whole _life_ on Paradron had been lacking something. He couldn't be happy that his planet had been destroyed--certainly _wasn't_, considering what he had to deal with from the Autobots and the _other_ refugees--but if only he'd been able to leave it on his own!

And this drink was, apparently, making him maudlin. Not good. Certainly not good for what he wanted from Octane. He pushed it away and pressed a hand to Octane's wing. "I'm ready when you are."

Octane grinned. "And I'm _always_ ready."

"Good." Sandstorm hopped off his stool directly into into Octane's lap, pressing his lips to Octane's, hard. He'd always had to worry about not coming on too strong, before, but somehow he doubted Octane would mind.

And sure enough, Octane didn't, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms around Sandstorm to feel up his back. Sandstorm's hands went automatically to Octane's wings--he'd only had one lover with wings, and that had been a very long time ago, and they'd been nothing at all like Octane's--and he stroked them up as far as his arms could reach and back down again, then found the little opening Octane had used earlier, and its mate on the other side--

Octane pulled back, just a little. "Oh _yes_, like that." He grinned. "I love an 'bot who knows what he wants." And he crushed his lips to Sandstorm's again.

Sandstorm pressed harder on Octane's fueler ports as the 'Con nipped his lower lip and pulled him closer--as close as he could get, considering their impressive amounts of chest. Their chestplates rubbed together--Sandstorm's Paradronian Autobot symbol was probably smearing against Octane's 'Con insignia, and the thought was, somehow, extremely erotic.

(He'd always wanted to act out, wanted to _leave_, and he'd always been the Bad Mech, insofar as you _could_ be Bad on Paradron. He'd been developing some sense of responsibility by the time the Decepticons and Autobots had arrived, but an orn of committee meetings and taking slag from both sides had driven _that_ well out of him.)

Octane's glossa was busy exploring Sandstorm's mouth and one of Sandstorm's hands had moved from Octane's wing to his chest plating, groping around for an interface panel, when they were interrupted by a loud clang. Sandstorm pulled away and looked over at the bartender, who had just hit Octane on the arm with a rusty crowbar.

"Ow! What was that for?" Octane asked innocently.

"Get a corner, if you're not gonna get a room. The bar stools are for drinking, not 'facing." She held the crowbar ready to whack Octane again.

"I'm a _paying customer_ this time!" Octane gave her an offended look. "Should get us at least another breem at the bar."

That got him another unimpressed look. "Move." She raised the crowbar again.

"Fine, fine, fine!" Octane slid off the barstool, keeping an arm around Sandstorm's waist to support him as he slipped off Octane's lap. "C'mon, Stormy-Babes. Let's get going."

"Upstairs?" Sandstorm asked. Sandstorm was, just at present, sharing quarters and rotating a berth with three--possibly four--other mechs; he wasn't exactly going to be able to take a hot 'Con back with him.

But Octane--as always, Sandstorm was starting to realize--had arrangements of his own. "Upstairs, yes, give me a room." The hand that wasn't holding Sandstorm was handing another credit chit over to the bartender, without dithering this time, and she handed over a key. Before Sandstorm could half process this, they were out of the bar again and into the stairwell. "I'll carry _you_ this time."

"But I thought...!" But Sandstorm was already in the air, still clasped in Octane's arm, Octane still in mech form--yes, Decepticons could _do_ that, couldn't they. "Didn't you say...?"

Octane laughed. "Shouldn't take everything I say at face value. I coulda flown myself down, but what would have been the fun of that? Feel free to grope me right back--oh yeah, like that." Sandstorm hadn't exactly waited for an invitation. He had one hand groping Octane's chest--he was clasped to Octane's side, in front of his wings--and the other reaching over to grope the back of his far wing.

And then, halfway up the elevator shaft, Sandstorm's communicator went off.

It was Plowshare, one of the Paradronian leaders, and Sandstorm hadn't liked him very much even before the planet had blown up. "Sandstorm! We need your help in the negotiations!"

Octane gave Sandstorm a look. "Got something better to do?"

"We were almost to a deal and then you up and disappear on us!" Plowshare continued. "And now they're going to try to put us in _Polyhex_!"

Sandstorm really didn't know why they even wanted him, except that, at some point, both the Paradronians and the Cybertronians had decided that he, Sandstorm, was the one best suited to dealing with the other group. Which he wasn't, considering that he wasn't a negotiator and both groups hated him, but it wasn't as though they listened to him, either. No, his role mostly seemed to be to sit at the table between them and get glared at meaningfully at as they endlessly sniped at each other. Insofar as he was useful, it seemed to be as someone for the Paradronians to blame who wasn't anyone they needed help from.

Quite frankly Sandstorm had had enough of it. He'd just tried to save his people from slavery, and now they all blamed him for the destruction of their planet.

Octane distracted Sandstorm from his bitterness and his communicator by leaning up and nibbling at his tail rotor. "Running away from your duties, are you?" He murmured. "I like that in a mech."

Sandstorm gasped, and for a moment he couldn't think about anything else at all--it had been way too long. And, oh _Paradra_, he was _broadcasting_.

"What is going on over there? Who are you with?" Right, and now Plowshare was going to be suspecting that he was getting some. Hopefully not that it was from a 'Con, but having any fun at _all_ was generally bad enough.

Octane grabbed Sandstorm's arm and spoke into his communicator with his very best persuasive voice. "Sandstorm's engaging in some important negotiations. Networking, you might say." Sandstorm squirmed half from arousal and half from utter mortification.

"Is he." And for whatever reason, Plowshare seemed more impressed with that excuse from Octane than from Sandstorm.

Sandstorm had to admit, though--the 'Con was a charmer. "Yes, I am. I'm--looking into a potential energon source." Sandstorm did his best to sound sincere and not at all aroused.

"Well, Sandstorm, I hope your negotiations prove fruitful." Plowshare sounded almost as though he believed them. Sandstorm stared at Octane in astonishment. How did the 'Con do it? Seducing Sandstorm was easy enough--had always been easy, and now that Sandstorm was bored and frustrated it was easier yet, but Plowshare?

And speaking of whom, Sandstorm's communicator was still on. "Yes. I am sure they will," Sandstorm said, and cut it. And blocked all further calls from Plowshare and the whole list of other mechs he didn't want to talk to--which was most of them. Octane may have been able to help him get him out of that one, but he had better things to do with Octane right now. He grabbed Octane and kissed him hard. "So where're we going?"

"Mmm, just a bit further--unless you want to just do me midair?" Octane gave him one of his seductive grins, and Sandstorm was tempted to do just that.

But there was only so much you could do with a mech while you were also trying to hold on so as not to fall. "Easier on a berth."

"Good choice." Octane landed and shoved them through a door and directly onto a berth. "This room's not for much else, as you can probably tell."

Sandstorm could--there really wasn't much in the room other than the berth. Which was dirty and rusty and slightly dented, but somehow that just made the whole thing better. "Fine by me." Sandstorm pulled Octane down on top of him, tugging a wing down so that he could lick it. "You said something about energon?"

"Mmm, yeah." Octane pushed Sandstorm down and ground their chests together. "In a bit. I've only so much energon to spare. But keep doing that!"

Sandstorm didn't need much more encouragement. He could have used longer arms, though--it was hard to reach as much of Octane's wings as he wanted. He made a frustrated grunt. "Move down a little?"

"Sure." Octane slid down so his chest was against Sandstorm's hips and pressed his lips against his chest, scraping his denta against his Autobot symbol. "Harder to play with your cute little rotors like this..." Sandstorm groped his wings. "Oooh, but it has compensations. Harder."

"Do you like it rough?" Sandstorm asked, as he did as instructed, and then was immediately distracted as Octane's arms reached down to grope his tires. "Oh yes, right there!"

"Mmm," Octane kept groping, squeezing the tires harder than most of Sandstorm's previous lovers would have done without extensive coaxing. "Where I come from, they say I like it gentle, but I suspect things are different on Paradron. I'm not so fond of anything that makes energon leak out where it's not supposed to."

"...Oh." That was _certainly_ different. "Wait, where you come from--oh _yeah_!--you mean the Decepticons, right? Not Cybertron in general?"

Octane laughed, which was ticklish on Sandstorm's chest. "I definitely mean among the 'Cons, Sandy-baby, though I've met some 'Bots who can give any 'Con a run for his money in the 'interfacing that puts you in medbay for an orn' category. They're considered pretty aberrant, though."

"Wow." Sandstorm thought about this. There were some forms of rough sex that were considered acceptable on Paradron, but they were complicated and ritualized and generally way more trouble than Sandstorm had ever wanted to go to, even if he'd been considered stable and serious and well-behaved enough. As for what Octane was describing...Sandstorm didn't quite know what to think.

"Is that what you want, Sandy-baby? I don't like it myself, but I'm certainly flexible in providing for my partners' needs." Octane bit the bottom edge of Sandstorm's chestplate.

Sandstorm arched. "Ooooh _yes_!" That had felt good. "Uh. I mean, no. I don't want to wind up in a medbay." And get a lecture, and probably _pamphlets_ as well. "This is fine."

"Good by me. I'm not real interested in getting a reputation for damaging my partners." Octane pinched his tires.

Sandstorm found his hands drifting to Octane's fueler ports. They were...interesting. Like, and unlike, the fuel input valves that most mechs had somewhere or other. Octane seemed to enjoy having them played with, too. "Can I?" He wriggled over a bit so that he could press a kiss to one of them.

Octane wriggled happily. "Ahh, lemme plug into you first. How're you wired?"

"Ah, just below my waist, lemme open it..." Sandstorm triggered the commands and the interface panel popped open in front of Octane's chest. He had rather a large variety of connectors in there; partly it came with being a triple changer, and partly it was because he got around a lot and liked to be prepared.

"Oh wow, you've got some in there that I haven't even seen before! What's this one for?" Octane poked at one toward the center left.

That felt good. "Oh yeah...um, that one--it's usually compatible with femme farmer models."

"That would explain it. I dunno if I've ever met one of those, much less 'faced one!" _Octane_ was awestruck by _his_ experience, and wasn't that a thrill? The 'Con poked at another connector. "What about this one?"

"Ahhhh--I don't even remember." And he certainly wasn't going to remember, if Octane kept touching him like that. He'd started fingering a bunch of the other connectors as well.

Octane laughed. "I know how that goes. Anyway, looks like I should be able to connect to most of these."

"Most of?" The flood of arousal that swept through Sandstorm when he heard that took away almost everything except his desire to be connected with Octane right now. He sucked hard on the fueler port.

"Oh yeah!" Octane said, and Sandstorm heard a panel open. Sometime he was gonna have to get a look at what Octane was packing, but at the moment he wasn't really inclined to move his head. Feeling would be good enough for now, and Sandstorm gasped as the first connection was made, energy pulsing into him lightly from Octane. "I'm mostly going to be pulling from these," Octane said, as he connected the next one.

"Yes--of course--" Sandstorm pulsed into Octane instead, and licked more insistently on the fueler port. Third connection. Fourth--oh, _Paradra_ he'd never had anyone connect there before, he hadn't even known why he had that one. Sandstorm could feel Octane's smugness through the connectors, now, as Octane felt Sandstorm's surprise. Fifth. Sixth--he'd never used that one for 'facing before, but it felt absolutely wonderful. Seventh. Eighth.

"Mmmmmmmmm. All I got for ya. For now." Octane placed a kiss on Sandstorm's chest and pressed his fingers against the two empty connectors. And finally, finally the fueler port opened.

Octane tasted amazing, and Sandstorm would have said that, but his mouth was full, and his arms were full trying to touch as much of Octane as he could, and pulse energy into him as hard as he could.

But of course Octane knew and Sandstorm could just feel the smug grin against his plating and through their connectors, and this was so, so new and so, so wonderful and all he wanted to do was stick close to Octane and see what happened next.

What happened next, in this case, was another little bite at just the right place (or what had suddenly become just the right place, because Octane was biting it) and Sandstorm's overload exploded through them both.

When Sandstorm came back to himself--he'd passed out for a few astroseconds, it was to be expected, since he'd been providing so much of the direct energy flow--Octane's fueler port was disappointingly closed against his mouth, his cables disconnected and put away, but his new--partner? Sandstorm really, really hoped--was still lying on top of him with a smug grin on his faceplates. "So much better than a committee meeting," came through Sandstorm's half-scrambled processor and straight out his vocalizer.

"Oh, I'm _way_ better than that." Octane smirked against him, although he certainly didn't seem to be offended. "We could always do it again if you're not convinced." He gave Sandstorm's tail rotors a seductive little spin.

Sandstorm just gave him a dazed look. His systems were still too fried to respond to Octane's touch or his voice, but give him half a breem...!

Octane kissed him on the lips, then pulled back and said, "Later, I see."

Sandstorm wrapped his arms around him. "Doesn't have to be very _much_ later."


End file.
